


how to move on

by FlowerStorm



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff, Major Season 2 Spoilers, Mutual Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, anne and gil bond, anne come to terms with her humongous crush, i feel ya girl, just a hint of angst, lots of feels, storyclub, very minimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerStorm/pseuds/FlowerStorm
Summary: Later that day, when Marilla inquired why she’d missed afternoon tea and forgotten to return Mrs. Lynde’s borrowed patterns, Anne would be sure to omit the undignified shriek she’d let out in the Haunted Woods.Firstly, because she had no business loitering in said woods. With Jerry under the weather for over three days, both Anne and Marilla were swamped with inside and outside chores.Secondly, because of distressing news that abductors and hoodlums roamed Prince Edward Island. Down in Carmody, six children had been taken and a storefront smashed while the owner was still inside. Folks were beside themselves with worry. Matthew had made her promise not to stray out of their property or walk alone until the culprits were caught.And finally, because if word got out that she’d hugged Gilbert Blythe, she would never ever live it down.





	1. from broken things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---I’m opening my eyes under the sky that’s so blue that it’s cold  
> The out-pouring sunlight makes me feel dizzy  
> My breath is quickening, my heart is racing  
> I can feel it so easily that I’m alive---

\--- 

As she returned to Green Gables, a summer breeze beckoned Anne into the Haunted Woods. All around her, green leaves were on display, turning royal emerald under late rays of sunlight. She was partial to Prince Edward Island even on its grayest day, but nothing sent a thrill into her veins like a bright summer afternoon.

She took one eager step off the beaten path before hesitation pulled her back. She shouldn’t stray from her chores. The whole town was worried about a couple of child-snatching hoodlums roaming the island. According to Mrs. Lynde, they’d been sighted near Avonlea, and Marilla had made Anne swear a pinky oath that she would not expose herself to unnecessary risks. 

But Anne couldn’t  _ really _ be expected to keep that promise when charming bluebirds sung to her in a chipper tune. Besides, nothing sinister could be lurking in such vibrant, sunny woods.  

Wasting no time, she abandoned the path home in favor of the forest. First, she was the princess Cordelia who greeted her loyal subjects. Then a spy who carried life-or-death news for the Queen. And at last, an paleontologist who followed a trail to an abandoned site brimming with discarded treasures, splintered boards and--and headless figurines.

Oh dear. Her feet were so used to running to this place - her haven - that left to their own device, they brought her back. 

Her insides shriveled up. Anne tasted bile. 

She shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not alone. Her goodbyes were wounds still fresh, her shame not fully buried. She wasn’t ready to face her mistakes. 

For the past month, she’d avoided this wreckage. Not even in her quietest memories had she  visited the little wooden house, her second home. That an orphan would be blessed enough to find not one but two homes; it was unimaginable - even for Anne.  

Sunlight glinted off the cracked face of a watch. Its hands ticket on, steady, unaware that around it lay all manner of ruined treasures. Unaware that it itself was ruined. There was something to be said of the beauty in broken things but it was bittersweet at best. Now, only a bitter tang marred her tongue.  

If he hadn’t shown up, Anne’s bootlaces would’ve grown into thick brown roots and burrowed into the earth. Nature would’ve been forced to accept her as one of its own trees. Dandy weeds would’ve coiled up her arms and legs until all her skin bloomed green. If left undisturbed, Anne would’ve cried a brook into existence. 

Luckily, a snap of twigs jolted her out of inertia.

Her shriek sent birds flying off their perches. Pulse hammering, her eyes blew wide as Mrs. Lynde’s shrill voice warned her once more of the hoodlums prowling the area. This is what came of disregarding her oath; she was to be murdered in a violent and positively unromantic fashion.

High on adrenaline, she brandished a headless clay sculpture like a sword and spun to catch her attacker.  

“Sorry. Oh goodness, I’m so sorry, Anne,” called a strangled voice from behind the trees. 

A hobgoblin, perhaps? Or a specter, doomed to these woods, taking innocent souls to pay for its mistakes--

A sheepish red-cheeked Gilbert emerged from the thicket. “I’m very sorry, Anne,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you--” He took in her puffy eyes. “Is something wrong?”

She swiped at her eyes. “Were you spying on me?”  

“No, I was-- Mary’s got a cold. She asked me to collect some sprigs of ginseng.” He showed her a fistfull of dark leaves and white flowers. “I was just passing by and the twig…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

She should thank the heavens - and Gilbert - that it was neither a wicked offender nor an anguished ghoul, only plain old Gilbert Blythe collecting leaves for tea. By golly, Anne had been so relieved she could’ve kissed him. And the swell of emotion was so overwhelming it scared her. Very much. 

“Anne?” He must’ve seen something weird in her face because he took a step toward her. 

Instinctively, she took one back. “I’m fine,” she said, softer this time. “It’s my own fault. I worked myself up. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m sorry.”

“That’s hardly fair,” he countered, good-natured. “You apologizing for my mistake. Though I didn’t intend to, I did sneak up on you which is ungentlemanly. I’m to blame.”

Anne rolled her eyes at him, but she breathed a little lighter. It was easy to step into their routine banter. “Why do you always refuse my apologies? Think how much time we’d save if you took them in stride.”

He shrugged, dimples showing. “Time is never an issue where you’re concerned, Anne.”

“I’m sure it’s that and not that you love to contradict me.”

His grin was boyish charm with a hint of slyness. “I admit, I delight in our discussions, but only because they mean I get to spend more time by your side.”

And just like that, he set fire to her cheeks. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and Gilbert laughed such a soft, happy laugh that she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. Quite the contrary. 

“Ha ha. How very amusing,” she huffed, hoping her hair masked her blush. 

Since it was impossible to look at him and ignore the wild thumping in her ribcage, she grappled for something - anything else - to catch her eye. 

Overhead, leaves rustled in the late summer breeze, full of the scent of fresh apples. Sunlight filtered through, its rays like fingers longingly reaching for the ground. They caught on her litter of broken treasures, on the fractured sculptures, the shredded tales, the luminescent shard of what used to be a wind-chime.

Her sanctuary, her haven. Gutted.

Cold and sobered, Anne’s chest constricted. She wasn’t yet ready to mourn her harbor, her story club, and her friend.

Cole was happy, she reminded herself. He was more at home with Aunt Jo than he’d ever been in Avonlea, accepted in his entirety. He had family. He’d resumed his studies, taken to drawing again. Slowly, he was moving on.  

Each letter he sent filled Anne with a conflicting sense of joy and sorrow. How lovely that he was faring well. How terrible that it was so far away from her.

There was no greater pain than being parted from those you loved by death, indifference, or plain unromantic circumstances.  

“Is this…” Gilbert’s voice was as soft as his fingers on her elbow. When had he gotten this close? “Was it yours?”

She shook her head. “This place…” she looked up at him, “was too wondrous and magical and wild to belong to anyone. We tried to keep it a secret, keep it for ourselves for so long. To protect it.” A sigh escaped her lips. “What good is protecting when it dooms something glorious to leave the earth unmissed and unmourned?”

His brow furrowed with confusion but also a pinch of pain. Empathy. He looked at the broken pieces like he was trying to picture them when they were whole. “What happened?”

And all the pangs and aches of her heart begged to be spilled.

It was still a secret. Cole, the sanctuary, Billy and Miss Stacy. One big, tangled secret. Hushed to the side by the Andrews for the sake of peace and propriety. But Anne knew, and the knowing clamped such a weight on her frail shoulders, one she’d lugged wherever she went.

One look into his brown eyes and she realized she didn’t want to anymore.

“I messed up.”

She told him. Not everything. Not about Cole’s discovery of himself, nor their vow to join each other as equals, nor Aunt Jo’s marvelous soirré. But his drawings and Billy’s bullying and Mr. Phillips admonishments. Spin the bottle and Cole’s broken hand and broken heart. The sculptures. Her need to be liked by Miss Stacy and the perils of gossip and getting Cole into trouble. Billy’s rampage.

Cole’s decision to leave.

At that, her voice hitched, and the only thing that kept her moored was the gentle pressure at her elbow. The speckles of hazel in soft brown eyes. The indignant grunts at the unfairness sprinkled throughout her tale.  

Gilbert was a most attentive listener. It felt, at once, like talking to a packed room and an empty glade. Like a thousand shoulders now shared her burden but she’d somehow preserved its secrecy. Like confiding in a bosom friend.

And to think, three weeks ago she would’ve gladly snapped at Gilbert for startling her. For stumbling upon her sacred hideout. Two weeks ago, Anne would’ve rebuffed his concern without pause or guilt. A week ago, she was still furious at him for finding his calling. For wanting to accelerate his studies and leave as soon as possible when he’d only just come back.

Today, she’d poured him the contents of her troubled soul and felt infinitely lighter for it.

Could it be that Gilbert Blythe was a kindred spirit after all?

“It wasn’t your fault.” He silenced her barrage of protests with a firm look. “It wasn’t. Everything that happened, that’s circumstances and chance and people. That’s life. You don’t get to control life. You do get to control your reaction to what life throws at you.”

“You don’t get it. Cole’s mom found out because I blabbed to Miss Stacy,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t meddled, if I didn’t have this ridiculous need _ to be liked _ , Cole would still be here.” 

Gilbert wasn’t having it. “It’s one thing to be aware of your own shortcomings, Anne, and another to assume every mistake was caused by your hand alone.”

“Only this time, it was. Take me out of the equation, and the mess would never have begun.” 

Her hand was small nestled between his own. “You don’t control his mom or Miss Stacy, and they had a central role in this too. You don’t control Cole, and he was feeling lonely and misunderstood long before you came here. You control Anne. And what did she do when her friend was cast out by family and peers?” He nudged her, but she didn’t look up. “She gave him a haven to practice his art, introduced him to people who took care of him, offered him friendship. And suffered his leaving. That’s pretty heroic if you ask me.”

Her eyes found his of their own accord, and she found that for the first time, she didn’t want to be looking anywhere else. “You think so?”

He squeezed her hand. “You can be terribly hard on yourself, Anne. Once in a while, you ought to show yourself the kindness you so readily offer others.”

When had Gilbert Blythe become so wise and she so mute?

Try as she might, she could no longer see the silly boy or vexing rival she’d always made him out to be. The two-dimensional figure whose sole purpose was to spur her fits of temper and motivate her to power through geometry.

Gilbert had changed. Grown. His travels, working and meeting Bash, everything had helped him come into himself.

That’s how Marilla described it whenever the subject of Gilbert Blythe popped up (which was more often than Anne would care to admit). He’d filled up his long legs and dimpled smile with a sensibleness and purpose of a boy turned man.

Well, _ almost _ man.

That reminder that set off her heart again.

If god-forbid Rachel saw them alone in the woods (holding hands), all of Avonlea would know of their impropriety. Anne used to think such codes of conduct were absolute nonsense. There was no wrong, no sin in the comfort of a friend’s touch, regardless of whether said friend was a boy or a girl. 

But here, in the fading summer light, Gilbert’s touch felt nothing like Diana’s or even Cole’s. It roused the dangerous realization that she didn’t mind - in fact  _ craved _ \- his proximity. Which is exactly why she didn’t trust herself to have it.

“Thank you.” She gently untangled their hands and glanced at the broken bobs and baubles on the ground. “I do wish you’d seen it before it was destroyed.”

Gilbert waited a beat. “Have you thought about rebuilding?”

_ Yes. A million times. Every second of every day. _

But Matthew and Jerry were swamped with farm work, and Diana and Ruby knew nothing of construction. Neither did she for that matter. And, of course, they could learn. Anne believed them just as capable as anyone else, if not more motivated, to bring their sanctuary back to its former glory.

But that was it. Could anything ever go back to the way it was? Was building over the broken pieces pretending nothing had happened? And was she allowed to pretend the bad things never happened, to paint over the hurt and pain?

Where were the lines between mourning and moving on? 

Gilbert sensed her indecision. “I could give you a hand. I’ve pretty decent handiwork. After my dad got sick… I had to learn to mend fences on my own.” He looked at her so fully like there was no corner too dark, no secret too dirty to ever make her unworthy in his eyes. “There’s a lot you can’t change, Anne. The past is one of them. But the future - that’s in your hands.”

How much had he endured to be able to stand before her now and say everything would be okay without the words sounding empty? Without thinking, Anne wrapped her arms around him tight. 

“Yes,” the word ran out of her mouth. “I want to rebuild. If you’ll help me.”

A pity she couldn’t see his face, Gilbert’s smile could’ve powered the entire island. “It’s a deal.”

\---

Anne walked all the way to Green Gables in a suspended trance. Only when she opened the gates did she realize the sky was the wrong color. She was late, far too late, and her basket was still heavy with the patterns she was supposed to return to Mrs. Lynde. Only when she hit the first step to the house, hands sticky with worry over Marilla’s sure to come sermon, did she realize she’d hugged a  _ boy _ . 

And not any boy, Gilbert.

What would Diana say? Scratch that, Anne knew exactly what she’d say and had no desire to hear it. Ruby, on the other hand... oh, she would no doubt be heartbroken and furious.

Not for the first time, she wished for Cole's company and comfort. He would be sensible about this, right? Oh, who was she kidding? He was the one prattling on about Gilbert having a crush on her, the concept of which was absurd. Ridiculous. Unthinkable.

Gilbert was merely a friend. A good friend.

Why had she hugged him?

It didn't matter. No, not all because he was a gentleman and would never mention it to anyone. Furthermore, she would never do it again. Never ever.

Her heart leaped in her throat. 

My, oh my, was she in trouble.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been rewritten and updated for the sake of me actually posting the final chapter! hope that's alright with you lovelies. nothing changes too much plot-wise so if you don't want to reread the first three, you don't *have* to. 
> 
> also the lyrics at the beginning are I'm Fine by BTS because this is my life now and i felt like it matched the theme of this fic surprisingly well (though that was not intentional at first).


	2. from old dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---Even if sadness erases me  
> Even if there are clouds  
> Even if I’m in an endless dream  
> Even if I’m endlessly crumpled  
> Even if my wings are torn---

\---

When Anne visited the hens in their coop the next morning, the farm smelled of sweet grass and morning dew. Her ears still rang from Marilla’s stern but justified lecture on the perils of wandering the woods alone. Perhaps that’s why it took her longer than usual to notice Jerry’s awful singing as it drifted down from the loft. She almost splattered the eggs in her basket.

Jerry was back.

Jerry was back and well. No one under a spell of sickness could muster such a chipper attitude and no one else on Prince Edward Island sang those cheesy french songs.

A giddy warmth spread in her chest.

While she definitely harbored a sisterly affection for Jerry, she would admit her joy at his recovery was sprinkled with second intentions. Without the extra chores, she would have no trouble finishing before noon and that meant more time for rebuilding her story club with Gilbert.

Gilbert her  _ friend _ . Her  _ friend _ Gilbert. Whom she would not be hugging today.

“Jerry,” she yelled, skipping around in circles outside the barn.

Jerry’s head popped out the window, hay in his hair and eyes wide with alarm. “Anne?! What’s on fire?!” 

She laughed like buzzing bees. “Nothing! Everything is perfect.” 

He frowned. Anne was hard to understand on normal days, and he suspected by the line of cartwheels she was doing that today wasn’t a normal one. “Do I want to know?” he sighed.

She bounded up the steps to the house. “Probably not. Thank you, Jerry,” she called over her shoulder before letting the door slam behind her. She fastened an apron around her middle, and set about the dishes with unparalleled purpose. No time for daydreams this morning. 

\--- 

When she asked to be excused for the afternoon, Marilla didn’t look up from her work, but Anne felt as though she were under thorough scrutiny nonetheless.

“Those criminals are still loose.”

“I’ll be careful,” Anne promised.

“Like you were yesterday?” 

Anne said nothing, but she didn’t have to; her energy bounded about the room like an overeager puppy. There was no leashing her to the house.

Marilla rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You’re not to wander alone,” she reminded Anne. 

“I won’t be alone.” At her raised brow, Anne amended, “I’m meeting a friend.”

Marilla took in Anne’s pink-tinted cheeks. “A friend,” she repeated in the way of one asking which friend.

Anne feigned ignorance. “Yes, and I won’t be long.” She whisked her hat from the bench. “Back before dinner.”

“You’d better, Anne Shirley.”

\---

As she sat in Gilbert’s stuffy shed, Anne wondered whether she should’ve told Diana after all.

She had meant to initially; Anne did not believe in secrets among bosom friends, much less when it meant concealing something good and exciting. But the more she imagined that conversation, the less inclined she was to have it.

The second she Gilbert’s name left her lips, Diana would’ve gotten that knowing look in her eye. The teasing half-smile that hinted she knew what was  _ really going on _ . By the time Anne finally talked her down from her ridiculous and unfounded suspicions, she would’ve insisted on letting Ruby in on it, which Anne was ashamed to admit she didn’t exactly want to do.

It’s just that Ruby mooned over Gilbert every second of every day. It would make the whole process insufferable for everyone. Not just Anne. In fact, personally, she wouldn’t have minded. Had no reason to, none at all. But this project needed clear and concentrated minds.

Construction work was serious. It involved far too many hammers, nails, and clamps than Anne was comfortable having around darling, smitten Ruby. What if, in a moment of fawning distraction, Ruby cut a finger instead of the plywood? Anne would never forgive herself for not preventing that tragedy.

Which is why - convinced she should bear the burden of sensibility - Anne had neither sent word nor stopped by Diana’s on her way to Gilbert’s farm. Guilt nibbled at her chest all throughout Lovers Lane and up the dirt path but dissipated the second she spotted Gilbert and his dimpled smile.

Forget electricity and steam engines, that smile could power the world.

He showed Anne to the weather-worn shed behind his house. Pinned up on one wall was a sketchy layout of the new clubhouse. He explained that the first step was preparing the planks and boards. After they were smoothed and varnished, they would carry them into the woods to assemble. With their respective farm work and other chores considered, the whole process would take about a week.

Anne was a little disappointed as she’d been expecting to venture into nature, but cheered up when Gilbert handed her work gloves and a scraper. He told her to mind the sharp edge and showed her how to peel the rough layer of wood to leave a smooth plank for the walls.

Despite the barrier between their hands, a spark flitted from her wrist to the pulse point on her neck. Cheeks uncomfortably warm, she realized her secrets and good intentions may not have been as selfless as she’d desired.

Gilbert moved to his workstation, at the opposite corner of the room, and picked up a wicked sharp saw. As he cut up boards for the walls, Anne carried them to her table and smoothed their surface. Her first tries were patchy, the boards grooved from too-deep scrapes, but after she found an appropriate combination of force and finesse, they each lost themselves to their tasks, embraced by a companionable silence.   

Hours flitted by, but no one was counting them. Outside, the sky turned a charming apricot color, and the first cool breezes wandered in through the open door along with a rich aroma from the kitchen. Mary must be cooking.

Muscles stiff, Anne paused to roll her shoulders and admired the stalks of bowing wheat and the blushing orchard of the Blythe farm. Then her gaze flitted to Gilbert. To the measuring tape caught between his lips, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows to allow for freer movement and respite from the heat, exposing his tanned arms. Strong arms.

He chose that moment to look up at her and smile. “How’s it going over there?”

Heat spilled down her cheeks, and she hoped the loose strands of her hair helped mask it. “Dandy.” 

“Dandy?” he laughed. 

“Yep. Just dandy.” 

He grunted, and her eyes, incorrigible bastards that they were, flitted up to catch him stretching. His shirt rode up--

Nope. She was not putting herself through that. She stared at the scraper in her hands with such force a lesser tool would’ve exploded. 

“Did Bash help you sketch the club house?” she blurted for want of a subject to occupy her thoughts.

Gilbert laughed. “No, all I know I learned from my father. Bash is a decent farmer and a terrific seaman, but there isn’t much to build at sea. He spent a life on those steamers. He’s only started building things here in Avonlea, thanks to Mary.”

She didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye as he spoke of his newfound family. It stirred an annoyingly tender twist in her chest. “I hope he’s a fast learner. We’ll need all the hands we can get when it’s time to lift this club house from the ground.”

“Definitely.” Gilbert smiled off to the side. “He promised the two of us would not be walking into the woods alone again anytime soon.”

Anne didn’t catch his implication. More accurately, she convinced herself she hadn’t. “Do you miss the sea?” she asked. “The exotic ports, the adventures, the freedom. The world?”    

“It’s been my dream since before I can remember. The world is so wide, Anne. I know you of all people would love seeing that horizon stretch out before you, infinite and unknown. You can grow old on a boat and not see everything the world has to offer. Not live everything the world has to offer.” 

He had a far off look, voice painfully wistful. Like nothing compared to the thrill of a vessel and open sea. For some reason, it pricked fear into her heart. Fear that their little island wasn’t enough for the journeyed man that was Gilbert Blythe. That nothing here measured up to what he’d experienced out there. That she didn’t. 

“I hope to see more of the world,” he said. “But I don’t want a seaman’s life.”

She blinked out of her dark musings. “Really? Why not?”

He met her eyes, but she couldn’t sustain his gaze. It was too intense and understanding. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about Avonlea. During my travels, all the amazing things I saw, people I met, things I learned only excited me because I kept thinking of all the people here with whom I wanted to share that knowledge. I wanted to bring new things to Avonlea, make it grow to be all that it can be. I realized travelling is only fun because you can come home.”

“I thought you were running away,” she confessed. “That day at the coffee shop. I-I thought you weren’t ever coming back.”

“I was,” he admitted. “Running away from grief.”

“That never works. Grief isn’t nestled a room or a town; it’s in your heart,” she blurted, then covered her mouth, alarmed. Gilbert didn’t look offended though, he looked like he agreed with her. 

He cleared his throat, picked up the saw. “Realized that soon enough. Then came the homesickness, awful bouts of it. Bash would tease me to no end, but he’s the reason I made it through the darker days and nights.” Fondness colored his voice. “Then came your letter,” he smiled, “gold in Avonlea. That letter brought me back.”

Anne tugged her braids, sheepish. “Sorry. We did believe there was gold at that time. Guess I lured you back on false promises, huh.” 

“Don’t be. I didn’t come back for the gold. Your letter made me realize that even the promise of riches couldn’t make me more excited than I already was to come home.” His voice hitched. “The want in my heart couldn’t be greater than it already was.” 

Anne traced absent patterns with the scraper in her hand. Stars and letters and hearts. She stopped. “So you gave up your dream.”

“Actually, I finally found it. I want to build something here in Avonlea. Something magnificent to come home to after every travel.”

She didn’t know how to deal with the sudden swell in her chest. “A story club hardly seems fitting of such an epic dream.”

“How dare you?” he said, face scrunched in mock-seriousness and she couldn’t help but laugh. “A story club is a noble and distinguished project. There’s no safer place to return to after trying adventures than a haven of friends and words.”

The knot in her chest unraveled. “Good. You’re welcome to take refuge with us anytime,” she said. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lyrics are from I'm Fine by BTS   
> if you haven't heard this song yet or looked up the translation you are m i s s i n g o u t   
> go do it!


	3. from infatuations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---Even if some day, I’m not me anymore  
> It’s alright, only I am my own salvation  
> I won’t ever die in this walk  
> How you doin? I'm fine  
> My sky is clear  
> All pain, say goodbye---

\---

“You know, we can finish up tomorrow. There’s no point in overworking yourself.”

Though her back protested, Anne stubbornly snatched the tool from Gilbert’s hands. “I’m fine. I can do this for days. Why? Are you tired?”

A fond look stole his features, and he shook his head, resigned. “Yes, I’m terribly worn. Can’t lift a finger. Would you mind breaking for my sake?”

Anne made a show of pondering. “I guess, I don’t mind. Might be nice to stretch my legs.”

“Stretch, huh?” Mischief dimpled his cheeks. He discarded his work gloves. “Do you fancy a race?”

“A race?” she echoed.

Gilbert regarded her with amusement and far too much certainty. He shrugged. “Unless you’re a sore loser, in which case I take back the offer. Can’t lose a friendship over something as silly as being the fastest runner in all of Avonlea.”

She placed her hands on her hips and cocked a brow, and Gilbert mimicked her stance. He was fighting down a wide grin.

And though, deep down, she knew she was being baited, it did nothing to snuff out the anticipation burning through her veins. She never could turn down a challenge, and with much changed between them, falling back into the ‘rivals’ dynamic was far too tempting.  

“Can’t be a sore loser if I don’t lose,” she said and dashed out of the shed.

She barely registered the pinks and oranges of the sky. Boots crunched on gravel right behind her, and Gilbert yelled, “To the end of the apple orchard and back.”  

She turned to explain to him that was hardly fair seeing as how he knew the terrain and she did not, but all that accomplished was getting a cloud of dust in her mouth as he ran past her. She coughed, eyes watering, but wasted no time following him.

They ran into the treeline, trunks thin and wide zooming at their sides. The wind whipped her braids free, burned in her lungs and her legs. They zigzagged, Anne always one step behind. Gilbert turned to stick out his tongue and stumbled over a protruding root. Her laughter rung clean across the orchard, and he joined her.

Liberating is what this was; she liked the sound of the word almost as much as its meaning.   

“I won,” he declared.

She crossed her arms. “Cheater,” she said, but the insult held no bite through the laughter on her face

Anne halted at the sight of a slim, majestic tree with upward curving limbs. Pale yellow fruits dangled from its boughs, and its branches resembled arms reaching for the skies. She could imagine this tree as a pale dryad, a spirit of the orchard, frozen mid-clamor as she begged mercy from the heavens.

“What do you think?” Gilbert bumped her shoulder.

Awestruck and still a bit lost in her fantasies, Anne only managed to reply. “Idyllic. Positively idyllic.”

“Idyllic,” he echoed, impressed. “I’ll be sure to write that one down.”

“Want me to spell it out for you,” Anne offered with an innocent smile.

Gilbert gave her nose a friendly flick before walking up to the tree.  “You should visit them in springtime, the white blooms paint quite the picture.”

Anne joined him and craned her head to catch the wisps of light on its crown. “I can’t imagine a sight prettier than this one.”

He tapped her shoulder and offered her an apple. “ _ Jaune transparente _ ?”

The lilt of his accent did funny things to her stomach, and she thought Jerry did not do his language justice. French was positively musical. “What?”

“That’s its name. Transparent yellow.” He pretended to toss her the apple but caught it in his other hand and hid it behind his back.

She liked him like this, smiling. He looked just like a boy, close enough to touch. Not the mature Dr. Gilbert that the ladies in town liked to whisper about.

“They make good applesauce,” he continued, “but I prefer them as they are, raw. Reminds me of summers past spent with family, harvests, and bonfires. Good stuff.”

Good but not eternal. Not lasting.

“That sounds lovely.” It did. She wasn’t sure why she sounded disheartened.  

Gilbert folded her fingers around the fruit. His gaze landed soft and sure on hers. “It might take time and we might not get it right on the first try, but we’ll rebuild that haven.”

She didn’t know where the need to dispute him came from. “Someone can always break it again.”

He nodded. “And we can always mend it.”

“What if it’s ugly? Messy and patchy?”

“If it’s home, we’ll love it the same.”

_ Home.  _

Emboldened by the sweet breeze and glorious sunset behind his curls, Anne rose on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. Quicker than lightning. Than a hummingbird’s wings.

She took a bite of the apple. “Thank you, Gilbert.”

And he turned the color of the sky.

\---

Anne had to come clean about the clubhouse.

Had to because in less than a week, she’d hugged and kissed Gilbert Blythe and it wasn’t doing her sanity any favors. And perhaps if other people knew about the time they spent together, it wouldn’t feel so surreal and unchecked. Perhaps then the impulsive creature inhabiting her chest would learn right from wrong and gain a speck of self-control.

Had to because the secrets and the lies of omission were gnawing at her heart, and Anne had worked too hard for the trust and companionship and affection in her life.

Had to because there was no good reason to hide a project that inspired such a thrill in her veins from the people she loved most.

Over needlework, the very next morning, she told Marilla.

“Do you remember the story club I showed you and Miss Stacy?” she asked. “That afternoon in the Haunted Woods?”

Marilla hummed her agreement then took the pins from her mouth. “A shame what happened to it.”

“Right. A shame.” Her needle trembled like a leaf in autumn, and after pricking herself three times (and drawing blood), she gave up the pretense. She looked at Marilla. “Gil, uh, Gilbert Blythe offered to help me--us with the club. The story club.”

She cringed, and Marilla, being the good sport and tactful guardian that she was, pretended not to notice. “How nice. I didn’t know he was a writer.”

She furrowed her brow. “Oh, he isn’t. I don’t think.” She cleared her throat. “He’s helping to rebuild it. Our clubhouse in the woods.”

Marilla abandoned her sewing. “Anne Shirley, I told you not to stray from the path! Those fiends are still prowling about the island. You were to stay out of the woods in clear sight and out of danger. Didn’t Matthew warn you? And Rachel? And I?”

“I haven’t been in the woods by myself, I swear. We’ve been working at the farm--his farm just preparing the boards and shingles and tools. We’ve been careful, Marilla. I just wanted to move on--”

“From a broken playhouse? You couldn’t have waited a couple of weeks until things were safer? Until Matthew could help out--”

“From losing Cole,” she whispered but it was enough to stop Marilla mid-rant. 

“I just wanted the pain to dull a little. I didn’t go back there after he left. I couldn’t, it hurt so much. And there was nothing I could do about it. But now.”

Marilla’s face twisted immediately with regret. “Oh, Anne…”

“I’m sorry I vexed you, and I’m sorry I disobeyed, and I should’ve told you right at the start,” Anne barreled on. “But this thing we’re doing, it’s not forgetting but it’s. It’s like forgiving the past. Letting it be and looking forward. And it’s helping me.”

Marilla brushed a tear off Anne’s cheek. Smiled, small and sad. “I’m sorry too. For not paying attention, not seeing how you were hurting. I hope you know, you can come to me with these things and I’ll always listen. I may not be good at sensing them, but I am a great listener.”

Anne laughed between her hiccups and hugged her tight. “Thank you.” She pulled back and wiped the straggling tears on her sleeves. “Do you think we could finish it? Please?”

“All right,” Marilla relented. “You may build a new clubhouse but--” she held up a hand, “Matthew has to accompany you once you start building. No woods without adult supervision. And I want you back from Gilbert’s before dusk every day or so help me--”

But Anne was already on her feet, flouncing and capering about the room in delight. “I’ll hang a sign in honor of your generosity at the new club’s door. ‘Marilla Cuthbert, patron of the arts’. I think Ruby is good at hand lettering--might ask her to do it. Anyhow, you won’t regret this!”

“Mind that you finish your chores first,” Marilla said. “Mrs. Lynde still hasn’t seen her patterns.”

“Not to worry, I’ll take care of everything. The milking, the needlework, those pastries I promised the minister. And Rachel’s patterns will be promptly returned. I’ll just pop into the barn to share the good news with Matthew, yeah? Time is plenty.”

Marilla tsked from her chair, needle already back to work. “Don’t lose track of it wagging your tongue. Next, you’ll be running off to Diana’s too.”

Diana.

Ruby.

Shit, she’d forgotten.  

\---

“What if she hates me? I couldn’t bear to lose a friend over something as stupid as--”

“You won’t,” Diana assured her. “She’s a big girl and tougher than we give her credit for. Tell her, Anne. I have a good feeling about this.”

Anne buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Lord, I need a miracle.”

“Not a miracle.” Diana smiled to herself. “Just a change of heart.”

\---

“... and so he offered to help. We’ve been meeting up in his shed the past few days to prepare.” Why was her mouth so dry? “You should join us.”

Ruby considered her from under her pretty lashes. The left corner of her lips tugged up into a knowing smile. “I’m real glad you told me, Anne. You’re a good friend.”

“Of course,” Anne blurted. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, uh, it was never even a question of  _ if _ , I was just swamped with things and didn’t have time to come here. But I have time now. Which is why I am here.” If one could die of internal cringing, Anne would be six feet under. “Would you like to walk together to his farm?”

“Oh, dear, I’m not going.” Ruby shook her dainty head, still smiling. “I’m much too busy. Dress fittings and tea and etiquette lessons. Plus, I don’t think construction suits me. But you go ahead and be sure to tell me how it goes.” Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Don’t leave out a single detail.”

Anne didn’t trust her own ears. “You’re passing up an afternoon with Gilbert? At his house?”

Ruby nodded.

“Are you… sick?” Anne palmed her friend’s forehead, cheeks, neck. “Is it the flu? Are you hallucinating? Ruby, you can’t eat just any random berrie you see off the path. How many times have I told you--”

Ruby disentangled herself, laughing. “I’m healthy and lucid, thank you. Perhaps now more than ever. Diana and I had a very enlightening chat the other day.”

Anne’s heart was an eagle beating powerful wings on her chest.

“What about?”

“A great many things, but mostly boys. And I came to the conclusion that I can’t tie myself to Gilbert if I want to have half as many  _ beaus _ as my sister before I’m fifteen. So, I’ve let him go.”

Anne frowned. “Let him go?”

“Yes, he’s too much work. It’s boring to pine after someone who is pining after someone else.” She gave Anne a perfectly pointed look that still managed to fly over her head. Ruby rolled her eyes. “Don’t fret, I’ve quit and moved on. And I’m quite happier too.”

“You really don’t mind me going?”

Ruby placed a gentle hand on Anne’s knee, blue eyes clear and encouraging. “Go for it.”

Anne stood and tried to blink away her confusion. “You’ll come to the club though?” she asked. “Once it’s finished.”

“Why, of course.” Ruby smiled. “Where else would I write?”

Anne left the Gilis property a feather in the wind, completely befuddled but lighter than ever. 

Diana had definitely meddled. Definitely. But Anne wasn’t complaining.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics: I'm Fine by BTS


	4. from comfortable rivalries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---I’ll let go of your hand now  
> I know I’m all mine, mine, mine  
> Cause I’m just fine---

\---

There was something intimate about working alongside Gilbert. Something Anne couldn’t put her finger on.

It could’ve been her swelling gratitude for his devoted help. It could’ve been the teasing and light-hearted banter. Or even the unplanned deep moments when they bared fears and aspirations to one another like they’d been friends since the womb.   

But she suspected the truth lay in their shared silences. Languid, blissful silences that curled up at their feet and napped for hours on end before one of them woke it up with a mundane question or joke or appreciation of the view. They came and went with an ease that startled her.

Anne had never been one for extended moments of quiet.

Though she lived for daydreams and introspection, poetry and musings, they weren’t silent. Quite the contrary, they were a riot lodged in her throat, anthems blaring in her heart.

She chased noise to remind herself that she was alive. That the world was alive. Alone, she conversed with trees and flowers, birds and ladybugs. A scarecrow. Her reflection. Anything to dispel the nightmares tight-roping at the brim of her thoughts.

But with Gilbert, silence was not a muffled scream but a sigh of content. Pleasant like a belly full of warm stew after a long day’s work.

As the urge to cram each second with mindless chatter vanished, she listened to the scrape of metal and wood, the scuff of boots on dry soil. She marveled at her own heartbeat, realized the pounding was a kaleidoscope of butterflies jiving in her chest. Realized they stuttered every time he smiled at her.

In the silences, she observed. The little concentrated furrow between his eyebrows as he varnished the wooden boards. The quirk of his lips he thought he hid so well whenever she knocked over supplies or outwitted him in a pointless debate. The dance of his nimble fingers attaching hinges on the door and mounting sills on the open windows.

Without planning to, Anne became an expert on all his mannerisms from the nervous tug on his pinkie to the excited bob of his throat. Her feelings unfolded in an infuriating paradox where his presence at once agitated and settled the thrum in her ribs.   

On the fourth day, as he walked her home (for safety reasons; those hooligans were still at large), she stole a pocketful of peeks at his profile. The curls tucked under his cap, and the slope of his nose, and the relaxed set of his shoulders.  

“Tomorrow, we’ll finally take this outside,” he said, dimples rosy pink under the fading sunlight. “Delve into the woods and lift some walls.” He knocked shoulders with her. “I know you’ve been itching to go back to the trees.”

Back to the trees, the Haunted Woods, her fox, and her friends. Soon the Avonlea Story Club would stand proudly once more, and Ruby and Diana would meet her there to spend afternoons immersed in fantasy and romance. Afternoons of words. Afternoons without Gilbert.

Disappointment pooled in her belly, but she refused to inspect it.

“I’ve enjoyed our time indoors and all the skills and tricks I’ve learned,” she assured him. “I believe I’ll be of much better use to Matthew around the farm now. But I truly cannot wait to see this club standing on its own. I can hardly believe my little hands helped bring it into existence.”

“You better believe it. You did all the heavy lifting.”

She cocked a brow. “Oh, yeah? What did you do then?”

He shrugged. Smirked. “Supervised.”

She couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out. “Oh, wow,” she said. “Lucky you kept an eye on things. Who knows what I might’ve gotten up to in that shed unsupervised?”

“Indeed.”

“Who put you in charge, huh? You’re not that much older than me.”

“No,” he conceded, “but I am much taller, and that gives me automatic seniority.”

Anne shook her head, and he winked. They reached the gates of Green Gables far too soon.

Gilbert tugged on the end of her braid. “See you tomorrow, Carrots?”

And wasn’t that a testament to how much had changed? The nickname that once earned him a slate across the cheeks now yielded a genuine smile. (It also didn’t hurt that he murmured it endearingly).

“I’ll bring Matthew and Diana,” she piped.

“And I’ll bring Mary and drag Bash.”

His brown eyes were soft, wrinkled in smiles, and full of indecipherable thoughts. And suddenly she was warm all over with a feeling she could no longer ignore.

He made to say something, but Anne rushed through the gate, barely reigning in the impulsive creature in her chest as it pestered her to do something. Something mortifyingly stupid. She waited until she’d reached the front steps to turn and wave goodbye.

He faltered for a second but waved back.

(And she lay awake the whole night, wishing she hadn’t developed appropriate levels of self-control.)      

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics: I'm Fine by BTS


	5. how to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---All of the sadness and scars  
> Became an old memory now  
> So let’s smile and let go---

\---

Outside, the sky was an all-consuming black cloak not even stars dared disturb. The trees, pillars on the horizon, static, waiting for a breath of wind that would not come until dawn. No sound intruded on the witching hour as it rolled over the island and wrapped all Mother Nature’s children in a somnolent cocoon.

All but Anne.

Bleary-eyed, she’d chased sleep for hours but it slipped through her fingers each time like a rippling mirage. Fists planted on the mattress beneath her, she cursed the insistent thump of her heart for the bruises it left on her ribcage.

The novels she’d devoured in childhood had only deluded her on the subject of romance. Serenity and bliss were no agents of love. There was nothing light or carefree in how every breath charred her throat. Left embers on her tongue.

Anne squirmed. She needed a way to purge this feeling from her chest. She was not allowed to _like_ Gilbert Blythe.

So Ruby no longer had a crush on him. Big deal. That didn’t mean Anne could simply - it’s just, there were still many other complications standing in the way of liking Gilbert Blythe. ( _Liking._ Conceding anymore than that would cleave her brain in half.)

Since sleep refused to put her out of her misery, and she refused to waste away blinking at the ceiling, Anne surged to her feet. She swatted the sheets stuck to her back and rummaged the drawers for a distraction. Her fingers curled around a cool metal object - the fountain pen. A marvelous instrument that had birthed one too many wild tales and printed threads of her imagination onto paper.

How would it fare in non-fiction, a translator of heartbeats to words?

She struck a match, lit a candle. Touched nib to thin paper and let the ink bead, dark and glossy, on the page but... nothing came out of _her_.

Her heartstrings were a jumble of live wires and unraveling them, a fool’s errand. Each attempt awarded with an electric discharge and a sense of mounting frustration. Anne knew not whether to toss the wires over a cliff or card her fingers through them with reckless abandon.  

A deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

Anne watched the wax lazily dripping from the candle.

There was no point trying to write something that made sense when nothing about this - _nothing_ \- made sense. Hesitation would only prolong the torture of teasing out the knots.

Resolute, the moon watched her print the single most awkward, unpolished, honest text in all Canadian history. By the time she signed her name in wobbly script at the bottom of the page, her eyes were scratchy, but her head was plucked blissfully clean.

 

\---

“Do you remember?” he asked, voice caught between a chuckle and a hum. A sad, nostalgic thing, fingers tracing the weather worn planks, the flimsy moss covered curtains.

Did she?

“Hours and hours in the orchard. Playing. Laughing. Hours and hours in that shed, cutting up boards.” He smiled, impossibly sweet, tangled in the remembering.

Years she’d spent beside that smile, those crinkling eyes, and yet she still got knocked over the full force of it. Of them.

Of Gilbert.  

\---

_“We’re-” his throat bobbed, “we’re friends at the very least, aren’t we?”_

_And he looked so pained that the words stuck in inside spilled at her feet in an incoherent mess. “Friends… doesn’t begin to cover it. We’ve always been more. I’ve felt - since the first day - since the woods. We are kindred, you and I.”_

_There truly was no other descriptor for the tenor in his voice than awe. Gobsmacked awe. “Kindred?”_

_She wrung her hands, heart so obnoxiously loud. She wanted to tell it to shut up. Shut up. So she could hear herself think. So she could sit down and shuffle through the array of madness in her chest and sort it out in neat little piles. Read through them carefully. Decide on a sensible - keyword sensible - course of action._

_“Kindred. It’s like of the same kin, uh, family?” Panic blew her eyes wide. “Not that - I wasn’t insinuating that we were…” She cringed. “Insinuating sounds wrong. I meant, this isn’t me proposing we share familial bonds. Or that we should.” Her skin was wildfire._

_“I’m your kindred spirit?” Gilbert asked, a little open-mouthed and uncertain. No. Not uncertain, tentative._

_And the way he said your like it was an honor sparingly and wisely bestowed, one he had a hard time believing he deserved, melted her heart. “Yes,” she whispered._

\---

 

Did she remember?

Anne gently pushed past the tarp covering the entrance. Peeked inside. Empty in all the ways that didn’t matter. Full in the ways that did. So many moments, frames of her life, captured inside these walls. The sweet and the bitter and the hard to swallow. Hard to face.

“I recall your very ungentlemanly manners, sneaking up on me in the woods. Spying.”

He sputtered. Followed her inside. “I _was not_ spying. I stumbled upon you by a happy accident.”

“Happy?”

He did it again. Knocked the breath out of her with his eyes. The soft, soft shine of them. He squeezed her hand, smoothed his thumb on the inside of her palm, traced the thin band around her finger.

“Yeah. Look where it got us.”

She laughed. “It was never that direct or easy or uncomplicated.”

Never. Not admitting her feelings. Not accepting them. Not confessing them. Not being together.

It was never easy in the ways that didn’t matter. The image of the two of them together. The standard-cut mold of a life that threatened to suffocate what they were to each other. Dr. Blythe. Wild novelist Shirley. Was easy in the ways that did. Comfort. Companionship. Drying tears. Pressing warmth to cheeks, eyes, lips. Holding each other up. Listening.    

She wouldn’t trade this -- this thing between them -- for all the ease, all the straightforwardness in the world.

“Of course not. Nothing ever is with you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

And the way he said it -- like it was nothing short of the greatest compliment one could deal -- melted the teasing twist to her mouth. Turned it ridiculously sappy.

“Blythe,” she added and squeezed his hand back. “Shirley-Cuthbert Blythe.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it! i honestly don't know how i feel about this ending, but i needed to close this circle and this felt like the most organic way to do it... you can let me know what you thought in the comments. as always, thank you for the kind words and encouragement <3
> 
> hit me up [tumblr](https://flyawaycolors.tumblr.com/) !
> 
> lyrics: I'm Fine by BTS


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